


100 Pebbles In A Glass Jar

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: M/M, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 51
Words: 13,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: This was an old challenge from 2014 where I posted 100 little drabble like shorts 100 days in a row. I'm storing it here for archive purposes since I've been having problems with ff net





	1. Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> Keeping the original author notes in tact, although they're all pretty much irrelevant by this time (the nephew that was born as I posted this is now almost 3 years old, holy shit, dudes, it's wild watching this kid grow up!)

*****AN: Today is my birthday and I wanted 100 Thiefshipping Drabbles. So I wrote 61, uhhhh, it's a work in progress. I'm going to post 1 drabble a day so I have plenty of time to write the others :) These will be loosely related, as if we're peaking in on Marik and Bakura, but only seeing a few seconds for about twenty-ish years of their relationship. If you like the idea of getting a different drabble warning sent to your email each morning then you should subscribe! If the thought of only 100-250 words of Thiefshipping at a time is as insulting to you as a crack head only getting one hit of crack a day . . . then maybe check in every week or so. Reviews are nice, but even if no one else likes it - bugger off, it's my birthday present :) *****

Marik slapped his hand over his mouth to keep the scream muted when he turned on the light and noticed the thief laying on Marik's bed. "Bakura?"

A slow smirk curled high on the thief's face. "Surprised to see me?"

Marik nested his hands on the ledge of his hips. "Surprised to see you in my bed? No, that was inevitable. Surprised to see you return from the Shadows yet again? No, also inevitable. Perhaps I'm a little surprised that you look the same although you're no longer in Ryou's body. How did you come back this time?"

Bakura shrugged. "Magic. Gods. I rolled a Super Critical. Shit, I honestly don't know, but you don't survive as long as I have without learning to roll with the punches."

Marik studied Bakura, the look on his face reminiscent of their first meeting as a plan stormed behind his lavender eyes. "Hey Bakura?"

The thief raised an eyebrow.

"You can throw dice, right?"

"Sure."

"And I can count cards."

"For all the good it did us against the Pharaoh."

"Nevertheless . . . want to fly to Vegas and see how much we can 'win' before they kick us out?"

"Sure, I got nothing better to do. Not anymore."

"Let's go."

A sultry look adorned Bakura's countenance. "You don't want to welcome me back first?"

Marik smirked. "Don't worry, I'll give you a proper welcoming on the jet."


	2. Midnight Snack

Bakura stretched like a sleek, white cat. "I'm hungry."

Marik glanced up from his book and then his eyes dropped back down. "You know where the fridge is."

"I don't want to cook."

"Well I'm not cooking for you."

"Then take me out. Let's find something questionable out of a cart."

"That sounds like a horrible idea."

"C'mon. It's good for the immune system."

"What the trauma of cart food? I drink Kefir. Why don't you go get some if you're so hungry."

"I'm also bored." He stole the book from Marik's hands and dropped it to the ground."

"Hey, asshole. I'm reading that."

Bakura smirked. "Take me out and when we get home I'll suck you off."

Marik opened his mouth to argue, but when the words 'suck you off' hit his brain he became thoughtful. "Rim job, too?"

Bakura licked his lips. "That depends on if I have fun while out or not."

Marik snorted and grabbed his motorcycle keys. "I'm sure I can find a way to make this fun."


	3. Tea House

***Disclaimer: Citrus.***

"Let's go drink some tea," Marik suggested.

"We have tea here."

"Yeah but I'm bored."

Bakura kukuku'd low in his throat, flicking the stray white hairs away from his face. "Didn't we have a similar conversation last week?"

Marik opened his closet door, scanning the clothing hanging in meticulous order. "Yeah, and if I remember correctly, I went and ate disgusting, greasy mystery meat on a stick with you."

"And if I remember correctly, I gave you both a rim job and a blow job to show my appreciation."

Marik glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "Oh yeah. I think I remember that as well."

"You ought to, I lost count of how many gods you called out to before I finished."

"Yes, that was a nice night."

"Soooo . . ."

Marik went back to the closet. "So, do you want to get some tea?"

"No."

"I won't make you do something you don't want to." Marik chose the outfit he wanted and laid the clothes over a chair near the closet. "Although, it's a shame, because I was going to return the favor you gave me last time."

Bakura smiled, hearing what he wanted to hear. "On second thought. I am a little thirsty."

"Yes, but you don't want to go out, so I'll brew tea here."

"No, no. You want to go out. Far be it for me to keep you pent up inside."

Marik shrugged. "Changed my mind. I have chai here. That's my favorite."

"Oh shut up, and let's go."

Marik stepped closer to Bakura. "Beg me to go."

Bakura marched up to Marik, stopping an inch from his face. "I don't beg, Ishtar."

"We'll see about that." Marik slipped his hand down Bakura's pants. His fingers easily found Bakura's cock, already growing from mention of blow jobs and rim jobs.

Bakura hitched against Marik's body. "Fucker, that's cheating."

"There's no cheating in the games we play, Bakura."

A groan muffled out of Bakura's closed mouth as Marik worked his fingers up and down Bakura's shaft.

"Good, huh?"

Another soft groan.

"Wouldn't it be better if it was my mouth? And all you have to do it say a few nice words, Bakura."

"Fucker, dirty fucker."

Marik chuckled. "Well, that's a start, but I bet you can get even nicer."

Bakura bit his lip, a lusty growl rumbled from his throat. "Fuck it. Fine." Bakura netted his fingers into Marik's luminous hair. "Marik." He half-moaned half-growled. "Marik. Please . . . let's go . . . ahh . . . tea . . . oh fuck. Fuck. Don't stop. Please don't stop. Please Marik."

Marik's expression unraveled as he watched Bakura writhe against him. He grabbed Bakura's wrist with his free hand and moved it to his own belt line. "Do me, too."

Unable to argue, Bakura pulled at Marik's pants until he got them unbuttoned and zipped down and was stroking Marik as well. They bucked into each other's hands until both were spent and out of breath. They stumbled to the bed and fell down.

"Nap, then tea," Marik muttered.

Bakura nodded in agreement, already falling asleep.


	4. Gay Bar

Bakura sank on the sofa – a shimmering, eggshell-white creation with hand embroidered brocade – and leaned towards Marik. "So I heard about this club in Cairo."

Marik winced at Bakura's indifferent treatment to the furniture. "You remember this couch is silk, right? If you tear it, you have to buy me a new one."

Bakura pushed Marik on his back and straddled him, grinding his hips against Marik's lower body. "Marik, do I have your attention now?"

Marik tried to scowl, but he couldn't keep his lips from curving upward. "I suppose."

"I heard about this club in Cairo."

"Why on earth would we go to a club? And if we were dumb enough to go to a club, why not one in Luxor?"

"Because this club has really good reviews, and this particular club won't have any giggling, idiot girls trying to impress you while I'm in the middle of a conversation with you."

"I think we were in the middle of an argument, actually."

"I like those even more than our conversations."

"Oh? Should I turn this into an argument then?"

"Only if you want stains on your precious couch."

Marik flipped them over so they landed on the carpet with Marik straddling Bakura. "Problem solved." He bent down and nipped at Bakura's neck. After a moment he raised his head. "Why do you want to go to a club anyway?"

Bakura looked away. "You're an idiot."

Marik blinked for a moment, an uncharacteristic blush glowed on his cheeks as an idea dawned on him. "I mean, you don't actually want to dance with me . . . do you?"

"Fucking idiot." Bakura scowled. "Hurry up and fuck me so I can go take a nap."

Marik grinned when he realized that was exactly the reason Bakura wanted to go - if he wanted to admit it or not. Marik kissed the center of Bakura's throat. "No." He grabbed Bakura's chin and forced Bakura to look in his eyes. "I'm not in the mood for one of our hard, quick fucks. Today I think I'll take my time." He bent down and kissed Bakura, softer than he'd ever kissed him before.


	5. Family

They sat at the table, drinking coffee. Bakura stabbed at a piece of toast with his finger, half asleep and uninterested in his breakfast. Marik sat across from him, already dressed, groomed, and eyes lined in Kohl; however, he also played with his toast, ripping it into small pieces instead of eating it.

"I want to go back to bed," Bakura muttered.

"My sister wants me to visit this afternoon. She's going to cook and then we'll probably play cards – she always loved doing that."

"Have fun." Bakura took his butter knife and carved a little Pharaoh shaped doll out of his toast. He grinned as he stabbed it with the knife.

Marik wrinkled his face when he noticed what Bakura was doing. "Really?"

"What?"

"That. What you're doing to your food."

"Come on." Bakura bit the Pharaoh's head off and chewed with triumph. "It is way too early in the morning to be mature."

"I want you to come with me," Marik blurted out.

Bakura raised an eyebrow. ". . . back to bed?"

Marik rubbed his temples. "I wish. No. To my sister's place."

Bakura pushed himself away from the table. His chair scratched across the floor. "Uhh – that's a bad idea."

"I don't care."

"Does she even know I'm alive?"

"No . . . you'll be a surprise."

"Ha. I knew you could be cruel, Marik, but you're really outdoing yourself with this one."

Marik stared at the crumbled bits of toast on his plate. "She keeps asking when I'm going to bring a girlfriend over."

Bakura laughed.

"It's not funny."

"Yes it is."

"Then you can laugh all the way to her apartment, asshole."


	6. Chapter 6

***This one and the next one weren't part of the original set. Hopefully I'm not the only one that thinks Ishizu could out-troll Bakura if she were ever motivated to do so.***

Bakura's original plan consisted of scowling, crossing his arms over his chest, and avoiding eye contact. Then he had a better idea – be nice. Not just civil. Nice. Sweet, like the scent of decay from a shallow grave.

Marik had a key so he let himself into Ishizu's home. "Sis? I'm here!" Marik called as they stepped into the foyer and made their way to the living room.

"Marik." Ishizu rushed to meet him. She gave him a brief hug before noticing Bakura standing in the shadows. She started and stared at him. "And you brought . . . Ryou? With you?"

Marik toyed with his gold bracelet. "No, not Ryou. He's, um, the spirit that was trapped in the Ring."

Ishizu's eyes darted from Marik to Bakura. "How? The door to the afterlife should have closed after the Ceremonial Duel."

They both shrugged since neither of them knew how to answer her question.

"It must have been the gods," Marik offered, choosing the answer he knew would most placate his sister. "I mean, who else would have the power or ability?"

Before Ishizu had the opportunity to respond, Bakura wrapped his arms around her. He kissed her on each cheek. "Hello, we've never properly met. Call me Bakura."

Ishizu stared at Bakura as if she expected him to turn into a snake and bite her. Marik glared at Bakura as if he might punch him, which made the entire game worth it.

By the end of the afternoon, Bakura would ensure that Marik never made the mistake of dragging him over to his sister's house again. Bakura took the initiative and strolled into the house proper. "You have a lovely place."


	7. Chapter 7

So he sat on Ishizu's sofa, sipping tea with a Ryou-grade smile on his face. Ishizu sat across from him in a chair with her mouth hanging ajar. Marik and Rishid sat to Bakura's right. Their suspicious frowns a perfect copy of each other. Even without being blood related, it was obvious they were brothers by the matching expressions on their faces.

"So . . ." Ishizu held her tea cup like a shield in front of her. She kept her gaze on Marik. As much as she looked like she wanted to scream, her good manners kept her glued together. "So . . . are you helping him get back on his feet?"

Bakura forced himself not to chuckle. Marik was more likely to help Bakura down to his knees before he ever lifted him to his feet.

Marik stared into his tea cup. Anyone else, and Marik would have had a forceful, sarcastic answer at the ready, but it was his sister – the one person in the world that brought the sincerity out of Marik's character.

"Well, um, not really. You see – the thing is—"

Bakura grabbed both of Marik's hands into his own, his stupid, cheerful grin never leaving his face. "Don't worry, Marik. Your family cares about you, and I'm sure that they only want you to be happy regardless of your life choices."

Bakura had to admit, he was damn good at acting. He wanted to vomit into his tea cup, but it was worth the look of horror on Marik's face.

Ishizu blinked. She looked like a gazelle, all grace and nervousness. "Marik?"

"Um, what Bakura's trying to say is—"

"That we're going to be together forever." Bakura leaned against Marik's shoulder.

Marik pushed him away in disgust. "Okay, that's enough, asshole. Stop it right now!"

Bakura blinked at Marik. "Whatever do you mean, Marik dear?"

"This isn't funny, Bakura. This is hard enough for me without you acting like a complete dick."

"Well," Bakura snapped without his fake smile, "you should have known better than to bring me along."

"Is a little support too much to ask for?"

"We're not dueling the Pharaoh. You don't need my support against your sister."

Marik growled, combing his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Gods, can't you think for five seconds? What if it were your family? Wouldn't you be a little . . . hesitant to have this conversation?"

"No," Bakura argued. "Not at all, because it's your family – family always has your back. That's how it was—" Bakura looked away. "Before. That's how it was with my family."

Marik stopped and looked at him. Bakura paused for a moment, realizing the conversation veered into an area he hadn't meant for it to go. He resorted to plan A, scowling and crossing his arms over his chest. Marik reached out as if to comfort Bakura, but pulled his hand back and stared at his tea sitting on the coffee table.

Rishid broke the tension. "Well, you two always did argue like a married couple. I'm glad to see you've made it official."

Marik's eyes bulged. "What?"

"It's not like that." Bakura kept his arms crossed and kept the scowl on his face.

It was Ishizu's turn to smile, sweet like the scent of decay from a shallow grave. "Actually, by Tomb Keeper law, if you share a bed then you are married to each other."

"Well, I'm not a Tomb Keeper!" Bakura shouted.

Rishid sipped from his tea cup. "But you are from ancient Egypt. Didn't they have similar marriage customs? Most research suggests the mere act of living together defined a marriage."

Once, once, Bakura wanted to have a scheme that didn't blow up in his face. He growled his protest in a few select curses, but that didn't detour the cheerful smile from Ishizu's face. "Congratulations, Marik, it's about time you settled down." She turned that wicked, vengeful smile on Bakura. "Welcome to the family."


	8. Chapter 8

Marik looked over at Bakura. "What are we doing tonight?"

Bakura curled against the oversized throw-cushion at the end of the couch. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Yup. Nothing."

"Aren't you bored? You're always complaining that you're bored."

"Nope, not bored. I'm comfy."

"Delivery and movies, then?"

"Perfect."

After their dinner, and halfway through the movie, Bakura slumped against Marik's side and used Marik's shoulder as a pillow.

Marik smiled. "That's almost cuddling, you know."

"Too comfortable to care."

Marik leaned his head against Bakura's.

"That's even more like cuddling."

"Why should you be the only one comfortable?"

Bakura smirked and slipped his hand into Marik's.

Marik chuckled, it began sardonic, but ended as a sincere, breathless sound. "What are you doing?"

Bakura shrugged, and Marik could feel the movement brush against him because of how close they were. "I don't do anything in half measures. All or nothing, Ishtar – your move."

Marik tossed the throw over their laps, readjusted so that his right arm wrapped Bakura in a behind the back half hug, and rested his head back on Bakura's hair.

Bakura gripped his hand again and nuzzled a little deeper into his side as they returned their attention to the movie.

***Leave it to these two to turn cuddling into a competitive sport.***


	9. Chapter 9

Bakura looked at Marik like a cat with cream clinging to its whiskers. "Hey, Marik?"

"You have a tone."

"What tone?"

"In your voice. You're going to suggest something ridiculous."

"Never."

"Mmm-hmmm, we'll see. What were you going to say?"

"Let's go to the Luxor Museum."

Marik wrinkled his face. "Why?"

Bakura leaned a little closer and whispered, "let's go at 2:00 a.m."

"Oh no."

"And steal some shinny things."

"Bakura, you know Ishizu works there."

"And then fly to Spain and mail whatever we stole back to the Museum."

"Why would you give back stolen artifacts?"

"Gives the authorities two chances to catch us. Double XP. Also, it confuses people and that amuses me."

"And then what do we do once we're in Spain?"

Bakura shrugged. "Anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Provided we don't get caught."

Marik grinned. "Pack your bags. We'll case the Museum tomorrow morning."


	10. Chapter 10

They raced into their motel suite. Marik slipped the "do not disturb" sign on the door and locked it. "Thank the gods we're back in the hotel."

"I itch everywhere." Bakura scratched his stomach to illustrate his point.

"Why do they make sex on the beach sound so fun? That wasn't fun. I have sand everywhere."

"Shit, we could have stayed in Egypt and fucked in the sand."

"I need a shower."

"Screw you, Marik, I'm taking the first shower."

"Like hell you are. This dumb trip was your idea."

"But having sex on the beach was your total genius at work."

"I have sand in between my scars."

"I have sand in my ass crack."

They glared at each other a moment and then broke into a fit of laughter. Marik grabbed Bakura by the hair and pulled him towards the shower. "You can help scrub my back."


	11. Chapter 11

They went to see a Flamenca dancer. She stood tall, stomping her feet and curling her fingers and wrists as another woman clapped in beat with the guitar. The stomping and clapping gave the music a defiant, astute quality and Bakura sat tranced, dark eyes trained on each flourish of slender fingers and strike of heal on stage.

Marik leaned over and whispered into Bakura's ear. "I've never seen you stare so intently at a woman before."

"Shhh."

"What? No sardonic, witty retort to that?"

"Shhh."

"You. Speechless. This is amazing."

"Marik."

Marik snickered low in his throat.

Bakura blew out an exasperated sigh, turning to catch Marik out of the corner of his eye. "Fine, here's the deal. Let me watch this without your commentary, and I will treat you like a god tonight in the bedroom."

Marik bit his lip at Bakura's offer, but wasn't yet satisfied. "How so?"

"Foot rub, rim job, then I'll ride you, but you have to stop talking right now or the offer's off."

Marik felt his jaw drop a touch at Bakura's words. He always enjoyed when Bakura climbed on top of him and did all the work as he watched. It often reminded Marik of a thousand white ribbons caught in a storm, and was his favorite way to be made love to . . .

Marik's mind froze a moment at the word choice of his thoughts. When he thought of Bakura he thought of fucking, screwing, banging, and having sex – the concept of 'making love' never once entered their vocabulary or even Marik's thoughts until that moment. He tried to think of how long they'd been fooling around together. Two years? Three? Almost three.

Maybe he'd give Bakura a foot rub first.


	12. Chapter 12

***Foie gras is fatty goose liver. I've never tried it, and I think the method of fattening the goose (or duck) is abhorrent. People cram a tube down their throats and force feed them, but I don't think that would stop Marik from trying a delicacy, however, so he eats it in this drabble anyway. Ug, so glad I'm eating bbq'd tempeh for dinner. Oh, and plating is how you arrange the food on the plate.***

* * *

 

Bakura leaned across the table and hissed at Marik. "What the hell are we eating? Is this cat food? It looks like cat food."

Marik rolled his eyes. Their plates sat on meticulously pressed table clothes near crystal stemware filled with water and champagne. Marik didn't often eat meat, so when he did he made sure it was high quality. "It's foie gras."

"I'm pretty sure they just dumped a can of Fancy Feast on a plate and charged you way too fucking much for it."

"Oh shut-up, your steak will be out soon."

"Their plating isn't even that good. The colors are too bland."

Marik chuckled at that. "I'm surprised you even know what plating means."

Bakura snorted and stared at the candle center-piece.

Marik waited for Bakura to say something, but he'd become quiet. "Well?"

"What?"

"When did you become such an expert at plating?"

"I never said I was. I only pointed out that we're eating cat food."

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Where you heard the term. I'm interested."

Bakura thumped his elbows on the table and rested his chin between his hands. Marik winced at Bakura's manners but kept quiet because he wanted to hear Bakura's response before they jumped into a new argument.

Bakura only muttered, "Ryou."

"Your old host?"

Bakura nodded.

"What about him?"

"He liked to cook, and we shared a body for a long time."

"'Shared' that's funny."

"Whatever. I picked a few things up. Cooking and computers mostly."

Marik blinked at Bakura. "You know how to cook?"

"Kinda . . . I guess. Probably not as good as he was, though."

"And all this time you've never once made me dinner?"

"I've made dinner."

"Rice and chickpeas doesn't count. I mean something different."

"Why the hell would I make you dinner?"

Marik shrugged. "It'd be nice."

"Why the hell would I be nice?"

Marik leaned across the table. "Because I suck your dick, asshole, now get your elbows off the table. You're embarrassing me."

"I don't give two shits about what any of these stuffy pricks think of me. Elbows are staying on the table, and I'll cook you dinner after you start cooking me fancy dinners."

Marik snorted. "I don't know how to cook. Men weren't allowed to learn. Ishizu had to do all the cooking."

"Are you still underground?"

"You're a fucking asshole, Bakura."

"But am I not an asshole with a valid point?"

"Fine. I'll learn to cook, but tomorrow you're making dinner."

Bakura scratched the back of his head. "Hope you like cream puffs. Ryou made a lot of desserts."

* * *

 

***I need to get Bakura's back on this. It's okay to be an asshole as long as you have a valid point. The "I can't do it because of my childhood" excuse is no excuse when you're an adult.***


	13. Chapter 13

***This section and a few others allude to Trustshipping (at least I think that's the right name for it) because *shrug* I didn't even know the name of the Seto/Ishizu pairing so I had to look it up - The Shipper's List has got problems, man. Some of those pairings . . . wtf is wrong with our fandom.***

 

* * *

 

Bakura stared at Marik who stood staring at his cell phone as if he'd found another universe hidden inside it. "Marik? What was that text you just got?"

"She's pregnant."

"Who did you get pregnant?" Bakura screamed before he had a chance to think about what he said.

Marik looked up with a smirk. "You sound jealous, Bakura. Don't like the thought of me with someone else, do you?"

"I'm going to stab that smug look off of your face." Bakura clenched his hands into fists.

"Ishizu is pregnant, idiot."

Bakura snorted. "I can't imagine her ever having sex. Think she had her clothes on the whole time? She just seems too righteous to ever be nude."

Marik winced. "Don't say it like that. It's gross."

Bakura smirked. "That's how women get pregnant, you know. Fucking men."

"If you don't stop, you won't be fucking any men tonight because you'll be sleeping on the floor."

"Who's the father?"

Marik snickered. "She won't say. I think it's Kaiba."

They exchanged distasteful looks at each other as they tried not to think about it. Marik snapped his phone shut and grinned. "Bakura, I'm going to be an uncle."

"Yipee."

"Shut up. This is exciting."

"Maybe now she'll stop whining about me ruining her chance for nieces and nephews."

"I doubt it." Marik tugged at Bakura's shoulder. "Come on."

"What? Where are we going?"

"We have to go shopping."

"For what?"

"Baby stuff."

"It's a little early. I mean, it's going to take nine months before you see the little bastard."

Marik smacked Bakura's shoulder and scowled. "Don't call my niece or nephew a bastard, you bastard."

"Hmph, my parents were wed, making me legitimate. Unless Ishizu's also engaged . . ."

Marik pinched Bakura's ear, dragging him to the door. "We're shopping. Every time you say something facetious we're staying longer."

Bakura laughed, smacking Marik's hand but not very hard. "Let go, asshole."

"Fuck off."

Bakura jerked his ear free and smoothed his hair back into place. "Idiot, until she picks a nursery theme, everything you buy will be more or less useless. Get her maternity clothes instead."

Marik clenched his teeth for a moment. "Gods, I hate when you have a good idea. Okay, fine, but we have to buy something."


	14. Chapter 14

Bakura shoved the crumpled up flier in Marik's hands, and then crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

Curious, Marik looked down. "Tengo lessons?"

"I'm bored," Bakura hissed. "There's a lot of skill involved with Tengo – skills useful for a thief like me."

Over the years 'bored' had become their code word for "I want to do something, but it's unbecoming to my callous image so I need an excuse." Marik used the ruse as often as Bakura did, so they never called each other out on it. Marik thought of their trips to Cairo and Bakura's fascination with the flamenco dancers they watched the year before when they went to Spain. He couldn't stop smiling when he thought about it.

"What?" Bakura snapped.

"Nothing," Marik spoke in a soft voice, still smiling.

"You have a look."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do." Bakura narrowed his eyebrows, trying to read Marik's expression. "You know what, forget it."

"No." Marik stood up with the paper in his hands. "I want to do it. It looks fun."

"Fun?" Bakura screwed his face up as if the word tasted of sour milk. "I just want to improve my dexterity."

Marik shrugged. "You do it for dexterity, then. I'll go for the fun of it."

Bakura exhaled. "Whatever."


	15. Chapter 15

***Aww, I like this one. Anyway, jusy a quick thanks to everyone who reviews and reads this.***

* * *

 

Marik woke up to soft kisses against his throat. He moaned at the sensation, allowing his eyes to blink open until he felt awake. "Bakura?"

"Hmm?"

"When do you ever wake up before me?"

"Today."

Marik stretched and leaned his head back into the pillow.

Bakura poked at his ribs. "Get up."

Marik glanced out the window near their bed. "It's still dark outside."

"Yes, I know. That's the point." He gave Marik's throat a few more kisses before he crawled out of the bed.

Curiosity drove Marik to his feet. He tossed on some jeans and a old tank before he stumbled through their apartment in search of Bakura.

Bakura snuck behind him in the hallway, wrapping a silk blindfold over Marik's eyes. Marik froze and clawed the cloth out of his face.

"Bakura, I can't stand the dark!"

Bakura turned Marik around so that they faced each other. He held each side of Marik's face and pressed their foreheads together. "Yeah, should have thought that out better. I just wanted this to be a surprise."

Marik dropped the blindfold to the carpet and looked at Bakura. "What's a surprise?"

"Telling your ruins the surprise." He gestured with his head. "Forget the blindfold. Let's go."

"It's too early."

Bakura growled and grabbed Marik's hand, dragging him outside and to Marik's motorcycle.

"Where are we—"

Bakura spun around and pushed his lips over Marik's. Marik turned the kiss into several.

"Trust me," Bakura whispered.

That was the hardest thing for Marik to do – with anyone. He thought of all those years ago, on a blimp and fighting his alter ego. Marik sighed and climbed behind Bakura. By the time they stopped the sky was pale gray with the first streaks of yellow stretching out into the open horizon.

Marik looked around. "Okay . . . where are we?"

"Nowhere." Bakura shrugged. "Near the Valley of Kings, but essentially nowhere."

Marik exhaled towards the sky, trying not to snap at Bakura or call him an idiot. "Why are we here?"

"Because this used to be my favorite piece of nowhere to sit and think." He reached into the side bags on the bike and pulled out an old blanket, laying it on the dirt near their feet.

He also grabbed a knapsack and sat with his legs crossed, patting the spot next to him as he unpacked. He pulled out boiled eggs, cheese, grapes, bread, and kefir. The last thing he pulled out looked oddly like a smashed blackberry pie.

"Dammit," Bakura cursed when he saw the pie.

Marik sat beside Bakura, smiling. "Did you make that?"

Bakura frowned. "They were about to go off anyway."

"Bakura . . . did you just bring me on a picnic?"

"No," Bakura growled. "I was hungry, so I brought food."

Marik looked at the sky again. The first slice of true sunlight breaking over the desert. "You brought me out here to watch the sun rise."

"I couldn't sleep!" Bakura protested. "And I was bored."

"Stop it." Marik pushed him against the blanket. Their eyes met. "It's okay . . ." Marik paused. They'd both spent so many years dancing around their feelings that trying to organize the storm of thoughts ravaging Marik's brain at that moment was near impossible. "It's okay . . . to want this." He stared at Bakura another moment. "I want to do stuff like this, too."

"I smashed the pie."

Marik brushed his nose against Bakura's nose. "We'll just eat it out of the tin."


	16. Chapter 16

Bakura stared at the shot glasses and lime wedges. "What was the order again?"

Marik checked his phone. "Exhale. Lick salt. Shoot tequila. Bite lime."

"Or we could just drink beer right out of the bottle without the magical ritual."

"Afraid?"

Bakura snorted and licked his hand to make the salt stick.

Marik grinned, prepping his own hand and holding the lime. His other hand held a brimming shot glass. "Okay. One. Two. Dammit Bakura!"

Bakura licked his hand and downed his shot the moment Marik said two. Marik followed right afterward, they both coughed as the liquor burned the back of their throats.

"How many shots until we stop tasting it?" Bakura winced.

Marik poured another round. "I don't know. Let's see if we can count that high."

By the sixth shot they were sprawled on the rug, singing at the top of their lungs.


	17. Chapter 17

Bakura lay on his back with his arms spread out on either side of him. Marik knelt at the foot of the bed, swirling Bakura's middle toe in his mouth. As if the textured feeling of Marik's tongue on Bakura's sensitive skin wasn't enough, his intense, lilac eyes never strayed from Bakura's face, and he couldn't help but shudder from the attention. More and more, they seemed to be experimenting with foreplay. Sex had come easy to them, grabbing what they wanted, biting want they wanted, moving quick and fierce against each other until they could move no more.

Foreplay was tricky. It prevented them from racing towards orgasm and falling asleep, instead they had to plan, be creative, read each other's reactions, though that's what made it appealing. However, it also felt dangerous. As Marik moved on to the next toe, Bakura felt unbound. The slow, tender affection had Bakura whispering things too sweet for his mouth to ever say. He whispered Marik's name, whispered that he wanted more, that he wanted Marik, that he wanted kisses trailed up his thighs. And he did want all those things – that was the worst of it – the longer he stayed alive, the further they moved away from the days of Dark Games, and the more they replaced those memories with nights on the couch watching television, the more Bakura wanted to drop his guard, to be gentle.

Marik listened to his pleas, creeping up Bakura's thighs with soft kisses and teasing licks. Bakura gasped. He held his breath, as if he'd miss something otherwise.

"What to you want me to do now?" Marik muttered into Bakura's thigh.

Bakura tugged at Marik's arms in order to pull him up so that they lay face to face. He hid in Marik's shoulder, unable to look at him.

It was so easy to fight, so easy to hate, but so difficult to speak.

"I want you to . . ."

The words died. As much as he wanted to say them, he couldn't. Not yet. Not yet.

Marik kissed his forehead, where his third eye would rest. He looked at Bakura. "Okay. I will."


	18. Chapter 18

"Hurry up!" Marik screamed. "Rishid said she went into labor ten minutes ago. We need to go now!"

"Marik, all we're going to do is stand in the waiting room. There's no point in rushing."

"No arguing! Let's go!"

Bakura grabbed Marik by the shoulder to calm him down - he had put on his shirt inside out. "Marik. She'll be fine. She's not underground with a midwife. She's in a hospital. With doctors. Calm down, and put your shirt on correctly."

Marik stared down at his shirt and then grabbed Bakura in a frantic, too-tight embrace. "I don't want anything to go wrong."

Bakura returned the hug, holding Marik as tight as his arms allowed. "Nothing will go wrong."

"I know, but—"

"Nothing will go wrong." Bakura pressed his face into the crown of Marik's head. "And I'm right here."

Marik sighed into Bakura's chest. They broke apart and Marik flipped his shirt right side in. "Better?"

"Yeah." Bakura stole the keys out of Marik's hand. "I think I'll drive the bike. C'mon, let's go meet this kid you've been buying so much stuff for during the last nine months."

* * *

*****It could be worse, Marik. *My* little sister is going to give birth at St. Mary's in a few months. When I was in college everyone called it "St. Murders" and I don't think the nick name has gone away over the years. Thankfully, her doctor seems competent.*****


	19. Chapter 19

They'd taken enough tango lessons to get the hang of the moves, but eventually quit because they got bored with the structure of class learning; however, they hadn't quit practicing. Music changed their kitchen into their personal dance studio. They wore loose cloth slacks, their feet and chests bare.

From opposite ends of the kitchen, they stepped towards each other, each step accenting a beat. When the drew together, Bakura turned away. His hair flicked out like a horse's mane during a gallop. Marik caught Bakura's wrist and pulled him close. Bakura spun into Marik's copper chest as Marik used his left hand to hold Bakura's cheek for a moment before Bakura pulled away again. They circled around the kitchen, their feet never straying from the syncopation of the music.

Marik played aggressor, moving close. Bakura moved away, but then stopped so he could be "caught". They stood together in a closed position. Step-step-step-step and a pause so Bakura could hook his right leg behind Marik's calves, then out, and then back around Marik.

When they started, they thought they'd argue over who would lead, but Marik always lead because Bakura loved performing the ganchos and spins. He said leading bored him.

Neither spoke, it was one of the few times they never argued. How could you fight when the music demanded every thread of your body and thoughts? It'd be a wasted moment.

Marik dipped Bakura as the music ended. They both panted for breath, droplets of sweat dancing down their chests. Their gazes held together and they were still silent. Marik didn't pull Bakura back up for the next song; instead, he lowered him to the cool floor and kissed him.

They made love like they danced; silent, sweating, panting, in a closed position, and with Bakura's legs hooked around Marik.


	20. Chapter 20

"No, you can't do that yet," Bakura said.

"Why not?" Marik asked.

"You have to roll first."

"Gods, you have to throw a dice before you take a shit in this game."

Bakura snickered, then muttered, "fortitude check, I suppose."

"This isn't really a game you can play with two people."

Bakura growled. "I know, but I hate people, so I don't want anyone else to play."

"Let's just play Duel Monsters."

Bakura laid back on the carpet and stared at the ceiling. "Okay."

Marik lay on his stomach next to Bakura. "You know, you should just email Ryou. Didn't he like that game as much as you did?"

"Why not? I'll just send him a quick email. Hey, what's up? I've been back for about five years now. Sorry I didn't tell you but I was busy. How's life? Remember when I stabbed you when we played that one game? Let's play that game again."

"Well, you shouldn't have been such an ass back then."

Bakura lulled his eyes over to Marik and then back towards the ceiling. "If only I'd been as nice as you back in those days."

Marik rolled to his side so he could peck a defiant kiss on Bakura's temple. "Email him anyway. I'll go find our cards."

Bakura took the little Marik doll he'd painted for their game and smiled at it. Since Marik was in the other room and couldn't see Bakura, he kissed the doll before setting it back on the small diorama. Bakura looked at his laptop, already turned on to calculate stats and die rolls, and brought up his email.


	21. Chapter 21

The lamp near their bed looked dim compared to the sunlight slanting into their bedroom window. They slept naked, their bare feet poking out of the sheets. While they slept, they curled against each other, Marik the little spoon.

He rolled to his other side in order to face Bakura. "Morning."

Bakura made a sound that was supposed to sound like 'good morning', but sounded more like a grumble.

"We slept through the alarm."

Bakura popped one eye open to look at Marik. "Good."

A sly look decorated Marik's face. "Too late to be productive, right?"

Bakura opened the other eye. His bed-ravaged hair tossed around his face. "So we should just stay in bed for another hour, right?"

"Yes."

A little purr escaped Bakura's throat as he sank deeper into his pillow. "I love it when you talk lazy to me, Marik Ishtar."

Marik rolled Bakura on his back, staring down at him as if Bakura were breakfast in bed. "I said stay in bed, I didn't say we'd sleep."

Bakura smirked. "Hmmm, if I wear you out enough, we could go back to sleep for more than an hour."

"You're welcome to try." Marik kissed down Bakura's throat and to his chest.

Bakura flipped them so that he sat straddled on top of Marik. "I do enjoy a challenge."


	22. Chapter 22

Bakura leaned over Marik's shoulder. "Lemme taste."

"No, get out of my kitchen."

"By what right is it  _your_  kitchen?"

"I'm the one cooking, so it's my kitchen." He smirked. "Don't worry. When it's time to wash the dishes, it can be your kitchen."

"Like hell."

"I'm cooking, it's only fair."

"Then I'll help you cook." Bakura grabbed a bulb of garlic and started separating the cloves.

"You still have to help with dishes."

"Then you have to serve dessert."

"Your innuendos will not save you from dish duty." Marik glanced over his shoulder. "The recipe said two cloves."

"Sure it did, so we're using nine."

"That's too much."

"Trust me, it's not. The only reason I'm not using a whole bulb is because I'm too lazy to peel it all."

"No, you have to follow the recipe, Bakura."

"No,  _you_  have to follow the recipe. I already know what I'm doing."

Marik glared at him. "Get out of my kitchen."

* * *

*****No, seriously, when a recipe says 1-2 cloves of garlic, they mean half a bulb at least! An entire bulb if you feel like chopping that much garlic.*****


	23. Chapter 23

Marik leaned against the wall holding his hair above his neck. "Sometimes I hate living in a desert."

Bakura snorted. "At least we have electricity now. Neither one of us did as children."

"True, but even with the air on it's hot as fuck today."

"It's too hot to even fuck today."

"Let's move to Sweden."

Bakura huffed a single laugh out of his mouth as he walked to the kitchen and rummaged through the icebox. "Believe me, I'd love to, but we both know you're not going to move more than 30 minutes away from Ishizu and Bastet."

Marik groaned. "Yeah . . ."

He jumped when Bakura slipped an ice-cube down his back. Marik squirmed until the offending chunk of ice dropped to the carpet. "The fuck, Bakura?"

"What? You were hot." Bakura popped a different chunk of ice in his mouth. He had a cup full of ice cubes in his hands and a wicked smirk on his face.

"You bastard." Marik lunged for Bakura.

They wrestled a bit, and Bakura managed to slip another ice-cube down Marik's shirt – this time the front – before Marik wrenched a cube out of Bakura's cup. He pinned Bakura to the floor and forced the ice-cube into Bakura's pants.

"Ah! Ahh! Dammit!" Bakura laughed and screamed as he bucked and wiggled to move the ice, but Marik had his hand pressed over Bakura's crotch to keep the ice where he wanted it.

Turned out, it wasn't too hot for sex after all.


	24. Chapter 24

"Ten blow jobs," Bakura said.

"Screw you. We always do one b.j."

"Yes, but I  _really_  don't want to go today, so at least five."

"I'll give you two."

Bakura shook his head. "Four. I'm being generous with that offer."

Marik ground his teeth. "Three – take it or sleep on the couch tonight."

"Ha, like you'd let me sleep on your precious, silk couch."

"You're right – I meant the floor."

"Not helping your argument, Marik."

"Quit being a dick."

"Last time she threw up on me."

"That's what babies do. Besides, Rishid will be over this time, so you won't have to hold her if you don't want to."

Bakura pursed his lips. "It would be funny to watch her throw up on baldy. Okay, three."


	25. Chapter 25

They sat on the couch, talking more than watching t.v. Bakura leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "I used to be able to drink beer all day long and hardly get buzzed, but the stuff they brew now gives me a headache if I drink too much of it."

"I used to be able to write hieratic without thinking about it, but since I don't use it anymore, I'd have to actually translate it in my head to write it now."

"I do that when I try to think in Middle Egyptian. Modern words keep slipping into my thoughts now."

"Why don't you speak it out loud?"

Bakura shrugged. "It's a dead language. Kinda goes well with my dead village."

Marik turned off the television. "Do you miss them?"

Bakura's face was alabaster, still and white. After a long silence he answered, "yeah."

"You know . . ." Marik paused, debating if he should say the rest. "Rishid and Ishizu . . . they think you're family . . ." he looked at Bakura. "You're my family . . ."

Bakura looked snake-bit, pale and fevered. He hesitated, but eventually rested his head on Marik's shoulder. ". . . I know."


	26. Chapter 26

"What's that?" Marik asked.

"A box."

"Amazing," Marik said with an ironic tone. "What's  _in_  the box?"

"Stuff Ryou sent from Japan." Bakura opened the box with his switch blade.

Marik peeked inside. "This is almost all junk food."

Bakura ripped open a box of pocky and stuck one in his mouth. " _You_  try living in his head as long as I did and see if you don't miss cupped ramen and everything filled with red bean paste."

"If you get fat, I'll laugh at you."

"You'd fuck me anyway."

"What makes you so sure?"

Bakura waved Marik off with a brush of his hand. "You love this ass at any size."

Marik grinned. "You know, that could be taken more than one way."

"Take it any way you like."

Marik knelt on the floor. "So are you going to share?"

Bakura stuck another stick of pocky in his mouth and leaned back. Marik crawled towards him and bit the other half.


	27. Chapter 27

"Harder! Marik!" Bakura already finished, but that never stopped him from giving commands in bed.

"Do  _what_  harder," Marik growled in Bakura's ear.

"Fuck me!"

Marik grabbed Bakura's hair and pushed deeper. "Like this?"

"More!"

Marik lifted Bakura's ass higher, holding the position by resting Bakura's ankles over Marik's shoulders. " _How! 'Bout! This!"_

"Yes! Gods yes! Ah! Ah! Fuck!"

"Bakura! I'm gonna . . . cum!"


	28. Chapter 28

Afterward they lay in the crook of each other's arms. Marik laid on Bakura's chest. "Guess you have a heart after all. I can hear it pounding in your chest."

"It only seems to ever work when you're nearby."

Marik smiled, his face washed in a drowsy glow. "Don't worry, I'll never tell anyone that it works at all. We can't ruin your reputation."

Bakura toyed with Marik's hair.

Marik looked up. "You know what's nice?"

"Yeah," Bakura said with a straight voice, "rim jobs."

They both started laughing. His tone had been so serious that Marik had expected something altogether different.

"You know what else is nice?"

"What?"

"I can say anything to you and you never get butt hurt about it. I call you an asshole and you tell me to shut the fuck up. I threaten to kick you out of the house and you shove your hand down your pants and start pleasuring yourself – that was fucking  _hot_  by the way."

Bakura grinned. "We've had a lot of fights, but I think that one was my favorite. I'm not even sure when the argument sex ended and the make-up sex began."

"What were we fighting about?"

"Uh . . Duel Monsters?"

"No we weren't."

"Pretty sure that's what got it started. It was about a subscript."

"We wouldn't get into an argument about something  _that_  dumb."

"Yes we would. We do. All the time."

Marik stopped himself from retorting. ". . . okay. Maybe we do."

"Y'know, Marik, your mouth is pretty when it's admitting that maybe I was right."

"Yeah? Your mouth is pretty when it's saying my name."

"Marik," Bakura whispered.

Marik looked up, surprised that Bakura said it.

When Bakura noticed Marik looking at him, he said it again. "Marik."

"Bakura."

"Marik."

Marik slide up a few inches so he could reach Bakura's mouth. "Bakura," he said in between kisses.

"Marik."


	29. Chapter 29

*****This one is another of my personal favorites. I guess I'm a sap.*****

* * *

Ishizu fell asleep in her chair while Marik played with the baby. Ishizu had mentioned not getting a full night's sleep since her second trimester, and Bastet was already seven months old.

Marik rocked the baby to sleep and handed her to Bakura. "Here. Put her in her crib while I find a blanket to cover Ishizu."

Bakura shot Marik a disapproving scowl, but didn't risk waking either female by speaking. He took Bastet to her room. Seeing Bastet's nursery always made Bakura's chest feel tight. Ishizu painted the walls sky blue with white sponging in areas to look like clouds. Bakura himself painted a tree in the corner (after proper bribing from Marik). Glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling and Bastet's mobile had suns and moons along with her crib-sheets. It reminded Bakura that Marik and his siblings spent years underground, and now they were trying to give the outside world they never had to one, little baby.

Bakura set Bastet in her crib. She stayed asleep. He leaned over and looked at her. She had Ishizu's black hair and Marik's vibrant eyes, but her nose and stubborn jaw were undeniably Seto Kaiba's.

Bakura smirked as he realized he was probably looking at the most obstinate child in the world, a dangerous blend of Kaiba and Ishtar genetics. She cooed in her sleep, but didn't cry.

Bakura leaned against the crib railing. "You know, once there was this thief who didn't have anybody and he grew up really pissed off. He tried to shove his foot right up the Pharaoh's ass but . . ."

Bakura shrugged. "Well, it didn't quite work the way he planned. Wasn't all bad, though, because he met this other guy who was just as angry, and they ended up getting along rather well. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you're never going to have to worry about getting locked underground, or used as a sheet of paper, or having your home burned down. Nothing bad will happen to you – you'll skin your knees and your first goldfish will die, but nothing truly bad will happen to you or your mom ever because people thought I went ape-shit over my dead family members, but they haven't even  _seen_  the lengths I'd go through for living family. When me and Marik have a common goal you pretty much have to be the Holy Winged Dragon of Ra in order to stop us so . . . yeah, no one will ever mess with you."

He turned to leave before Marik wondered where he was; unfortunately, Marik already stood in the doorway.

"Goddammit," Bakura hissed when he saw Marik.

Marik held a blanket with one hand and wiped at his eyes with the other hand. When Bakura walked up to him, Marik kissed Bakura on the mouth and held him. "Bakura, I . . . love you."

It was still too soon to say it back, so Bakura pressed his lips as gentle and deliberate as he could against Marik's jugular, as if that action could carry his emotions to Marik's heart without repeating the words.

Marik grabbed Bakura's hand and led him back to the living room. When they got there, Ishizu stood waiting for them.

She held each side of Bakura's face and kissed his right temple. "Idiot, the baby monitor is on."

Bakura blinked for a second and looked at the little speaker near Ishizu's chair. "Oh goddammit."


	30. Chapter 30

Bakura sat on the sofa and dipped his spoon into the thick, white, honey-flavored, Greek-style yogurt.

Marik stood in front of Bakura with his hands on his hips. "Is that the last one?"

"Yup." Bakura shoved the spoon into his mouth and purred and  _mmmm_  of approval.

Marik raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to share?"

Bakura pulled the spoon out of his mouth. "Maybe."

He loaded another spoonful of yogurt and held it out to Marik. Marik leaned in to take a bite, but Bakura pulled the prize away until Marik's lips were in kissing distance. After he stole a kiss, he let Marik eat the yogurt from his spoon.

Marik sat beside Bakura and they passed the spoon back and forth until the container sat empty on the floor and they sat on the couch, trying to suck the last tastes of honey off of each other's lips.


	31. Chapter 31

Marik snuck up behind Bakura, hooked his arm around Bakura's shoulders, and snapped a photo of them.

"What the hell, Marik?"

"Ishizu wants photos."

"Too bad. I don't like pictures."

"Too bad. She used the big sister voice. I have no choice but to provide her with a few pictures."

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Okay, but only if—"

"If you say ten blow jobs I will scream."

Bakura smirked. "Eleven blow jobs."

"Dammit, Bakura."

Bakura laughed. "Actually, I was going to say that I'd take some pictures with you to give to your sister, as long as you didn't mind taking some with me for my own collection."

"Oh." Marik grinned as he thought of the kinds of pictures Bakura would want to keep of the two of them. "I think we can arrange that."

* * *

*****I'm so tired. People with social anxiety shouldn't have to host baby showers.*****


	32. Chapter 32

They stood side by side as they brushed their teeth and applied Kohl to their eyes. Marik shaved, but Bakura never had to.

"You're sexy in the morning." Marik bumped his hip into Bakura's as they worked on their hair.

"Fuck you," Bakura swore as he battled the tangles in his mop of white locks. He hated waking up, hated getting out of bed more so.

Marik turned so he could stare at Bakura and not Bakura's reflection. "No, I mean it. You're sexy as hell when your hair is bed-ravaged. Makes me want to drag you back to our room."

Bakura set the brush down and teased his hair. "Okay."

"Nice try, Bakura, but we still have to go to Rishid's to watch the game."

"Dammit." Bakura picked the brush back up and fought with his hair again. "At least baldly has good taste in beer."


	33. Chapter 33

"Bakura?"

"Yes, Marik?"

"Why are there suitcases on the bed?"

"So we can pack our clothes into them."

". . . why?"

Bakura gave Marik his trademark smirk. "Because we haven't been on vacation in a while."

"Yeah? And where are we going?"

"London."

"Bakura?"

"Yes Marik?"

"Are we stealing the Crown Jewels?"

"Yes. Yes we are."

"Are we going to give them back again?"

"Going soft on me, Marik? You sound awfully do-goody right now."

"You like to forget that I'm technically reformed."

"There's a lot of subtext added to 'technically'."

"You never answered my question."

Bakura shrugged. "Yes. We'll give them back – after we play with them for a bit."

It was Marik's turn to smirk. "Does 'play' also carry a lot of subtext?"


	34. Chapter 34

Bakura sat at the kitchen table with his chin propped up with a hand. He sipped coffee from a black, ceramic mug. "Eight more cups and I should be functional."

Marik drank tea instead of coffee. "No you don't. Last time you drank more than one pot, I had to put up with you – very hyper. You should never be hyper; it isn't natural."

"Whatever, Ishtar. You love putting up with me."

"Then you crashed and slept all afternoon."

"What else is an afternoon for?"

"Why can't you just have a normal sleep schedule?"

"Because one robs tombs in the middle of the night and then sleeps when it's hot. You're the one doing it wrong."

"Shut up and drink your coffee. It's too early in the morning to deal with you."


	35. One More Chapter

Marik sat curled on the sofa. He chewed on his thumb nail, a book shoved up to his face.

Bakura turned off the t.v. "I'm ready for bed."

"Okay."

He raised a white eyebrow at Marik. "You coming?"

"Sure. Yeah. Soon as I'm done with this chapter."

"Last time you said that, you didn't come to bed until 4:00 a.m."

"That was a really good book."

"And this one?"

Marik nodded, only paying half his attention to his lover. "Yeah, it's also good. Why? You want to read it next?"

Bakura didn't answer. He grabbed the throw and rested his head in Marik's lap.

Marik smiled down at him. "Bakura, what are you doing?"

"Going to sleep."

"You can go to the bedroom."

Bakura drew hexagrams on Marik's stomach. "I . . . can't sleep if you're not in bed."

"Oh." Marik's expression changed from indifferent to endearing. "I suppose you can lay in my lap then."

Bakura snorted. "Good to have your permission because I had no intentions of getting up."


	36. Porn

*****lol, does this make them Thiefshippers as well? I say it does!*****

"Marik, just pick one already."

"I need to find one that's interesting."

"It's porn. None of them are interesting."

"Then why are we watching it?"

"Because."

"That's some amazing logic, Bakura."

"Whatever. You know you like getting sucked off with other dudes moaning in the background."

Marik gave Bakura an unapologetic smile. "We should just film ourselves. We do a better job than all those assholes online."

"Pun not intended, surely." Bakura stopped and looked at Marik. "Actually, we do have a video camera."

Marik arched his eyebrows. "You want to?"

Bakura grinned. "Might be hot – to watch ourselves later."

Marik turned off the computer. "Go make the bed. I'll look for the recorder."


	37. Yoga

"Practicing for tonight?" Bakura asked.

"I'm in Downward Dog Pose. I thought it'd be good for me to practice yoga. You know, mind body health and all that crap."

"Looks like it should be called Fuck Me Like A Dog Pose."

"Shut-up, Bakura. I'm searching for zen."

"Yes, so am I. I believe it's in the freezer."

Marik lowered himself to a plank, hovered near the floor, and then stretched up into Cobra. "The freezer, and here I thought it'd be in the mind."

Bakura walked around Marik to get to the kitchen. "Definitely in the freezer. I call it Death By Chocolate."

"You're an asshole, Bakura . . . bring two spoons!"


	38. One Secret Desire Each

Bakura sat on the bed one night and picked at his nails with his switch blade. The only time he ever did so was when he wanted to talk about something he'd been thinking about, but wanted a distraction so he didn't have to look Marik in the face.

"What's up?" Marik sat on the opposite end of the bed, grabbing a book and pretending to browse it to help Bakura feel more comfortable.

"You want to try something different?"

"In bed?" Marik put down the book and turned on his side, propping his head up with his hand and staring at Bakura's back. "Sounds fun. What did you have in mind?"

"Um . . ." Bakura set down his knife, glancing over his shoulder at Marik. "We each pick one thing – something you always thought would be fun to try but never wanted to bring up, and then we do them."

"So," Marik thought about some of the items on his mental kink list that he wouldn't mind trying. "Not something we'd probably get into anyway like bondage, but rather something we'd normally be too embarrassed to even mention out loud?"

Bakura turned back to his knife. "Yes."

The laugh from Marik's mouth was almost a giggle, and his face was almost giddy. "Okay."


	39. Ooo-la-la

"How'd I let you talk me into this?"

Marik admired Bakura. He'd seen Bakura flushed plenty of times in bed, but the color burning his cheeks at the moment was a pure, self conscious, insecure blush, and it looked good on him. "You wanted to do something different."

"You just chose this to unnerve me."

Marik nodded. "True, but I have to admit . . that outfit looks good on you. Really good."

"Fuck off." Bakura tugged at the ass-length French Maid outfit.

He'd acted indifferent the day the package came and Marik pulled the ruffled dress and nylon stockings from it; however, now that he wore it, with matching, black heels, he couldn't stop tugging at it to make it cover more of his garter clad thighs.

"No, I'm serious," Marik said. "I'm enjoying this more than I probably should be."

"Whatever. Hurry-up and fuck me so I can get out of this thing."

"Why rush? You like to role play, so let's role play."

Bakura glared at Marik. "LARPing is stupid. If you want me to role play, I need dice and a table."

Marik shrugged. "You said we each get to pick one fetish that we wanted to try, but never wanted to bring up. Well, I want to roleplay and how well you play along determines how well I play along when it's your turn to pick something for us to do."

Bakura groaned. "Okay. Okay, I'll fucking role play, but I'm pretending to be an Argonian maid named Lifts Her Tail the entire time."

Marik didn't respond. He had no idea what an Argonian was, and besides, he was too busy staring at Bakura's pearl-white legs hiding behind nude-colored nylon and black garters.

Bakura played along better than Marik thought he would, dusting and picking loose clothes up off of the floor. To Marik's disbelief, he played the role of a demure servant with incredible immersion into the character. He even curtsied and called Marik "sir" when he walked by. Marik never gave him a chance to make the bed.


	40. Hotel Room of 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to change this one b/c no one liked it originally, but... I'm too tired to fix a 100 words from a 4 year old story, so, eh, here is the same section no one liked, my bad.

Marik almost felt sorry for the boy – he was roughly their age, mid twenties, but Marik thought of him as a boy because of the candid expression he wore. A thick mess of black curls crowned his head and he had hazel eyes and wash board abs. They'd picked him up at the club earlier that night, and now he laid bare on the hotel bed, waiting for them.

Marik stalked him from the left, Bakura from the right. They looked like two hungry lions, one gold, the other ivory. This had been Bakura's choice, and he'd played maid so well for Marik, that Marik had no choice but to go at this with gusto.

They had three cameras – each at a different angle so they could edit later. The cameras were both of their idea, not part of the original fantasy, but hey, why not? They were probably only going to ever do this once, might as well have a memento.

Bakura's and Marik's eyes caught and they smirked. It felt like when they plotted in Battle City, only more fun. No enemies, no battles, just pillows, and a soft mattress, and laughter.

The boy giggled as they descended on him, meeting their mouths with his own. He mewled pretty little noises when Marik started grazing his nails across the boy's soft, brown skin.

When it was over, they left the hotel room with the third male still passed out in bed from a blend of exhaustion and satisfaction. He wore a content smile on his face, like a male, Egyptian rendition of Flaming June.


	41. Anniversary

They ate Kushari at their kitchen table. Marik looked up from his plate. "Do you realize it's been ten years?"

Bakura met Marik's glance. "No it hasn't."

"Yes it has. Ten years this month."

"You're counting Battle City. That doesn't count. It's been less than nine years."

"Battle City counts."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does. We were practically married back then."

"We're technically not even married now."

Marik stared at Bakura. He shrugged and grinned, sneaking in a bite of food as he did it.

"It counts," Marik said.

"Dammit, Marik, me stabbing myself at the pier was not our first date."


	42. A Single Moment

Sweat beaded against the dark glass of the two beer bottles. The radio in the living room sounded far off, but pleasant. Their fingers took turns snaking Dominoes across the table.

They spoke of nothing in particular.

It was one of those rare, hot nights where they felt content to sit in the kitchen with a box fan and some beer, playing a game and forgetting to argue.


	43. Bakura's Dream

*****This one is based on a dream I had where I wouldn't stop hugging my mom because I knew as soon as I woke up that I wouldn't be able to hug her anymore.*****

* * *

Bakura sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Marik stumbled into the kitchen rubbing sand out of his lilac eyes. "Okay, it's early and you look contemplative, what's up?"

"I had a dream and couldn't go back to sleep."

"A nightmare?"

"No, a dream."

Marik sat down and looked at Bakura. "What happened?"

"I saw my mother. We talked."

"Did she tell you to brush your hair?"

"She teased me because my skin is white. I kept telling her that  _they_  did it. I knew who  _they_  were in the dream, but not anymore." Bakura set his cup on the table.

"Anything else? Perhaps which world-famous treasure we should rob next?"

"She said—" Bakura folded in on himself, tucking his knees into his chest as he sat on the narrow, kitchen chair. His sobs sounded like rust in his lungs, as if something corroded stuck into place for too long finally broke free. "She said she was okay."

Marik rushed over to Bakura's side of the table, dropping his knees on the cold, kitchen floor in order to rest his hands on top of Bakura's. The tears lasted for fifteen seconds then stopped again as quick as they came, and Bakura sat in his seat and tried to control his breathing to ensure new tears didn't come.

They both suffered from nightmares from time to time. When it happened, one would hold the other until their minds were calm again. This was a little different. Marik stoked the soft skin on Bakura's hand. "Ishizu says that spirits can visit us in our dreams."

Bakura sniffed. "Not sure if I believe that or not."

"Well." Marik shrugged. "If dark gods are real, and the Shadow Realm is real, and spirits can stay in cursed relics for three thousand years only to appear in different bodies again without explanation . . . then why not believe in strange things?"


	44. Mopping the Floor

Marik smirked as he watched Bakura. Bakura didn't know that Marik watched him. Joe Arroyo sang  _La Noche_  on Bakura's lap top on the counter. Bakura was mopping the floor . . . or something to that effect. Really, he was dancing with the mop. His hips never missed a beat as he worked his way back, sliding to one area to mop and dancing his way across a section of floor before sliding to a new area.

He spun at the song's end, noticing Marik and dropping the mop.

Marik threw his head back to laugh.

Bakura pointed behind Marik. "Fuck you, Ishtar! Out of my kitchen!"

Marik raised an eyebrow. "Your kitchen?"

"When I mop it's mine. Out!" He marched towards Marik, hands balled into fists.

Marik backed away with slow steps. "But you look like a sex-god when you mop."

Bakura grabbed Marik's shoulders in order to turn him in the opposite direction, slapping Marik's ass as he sent him away from the kitchen.


	45. It Would Happen At Least Once

Marik rode Bakura. The overhead light caught each drop of sweat and transformed them into chips of amber sliding down Marik's garam masala colored skin. Bakura watched Marik's serpentine movements, moaning in ecstasy as Marik writhed above him.

The gold adorning Marik's arms and throat flashed in the light as well. Bakura noticed a glimmer as one of Marik's earrings broke free and arched down onto Bakura's face. He closed his eyes just as he felt the weight of the earring land on top of his lid.

"Shit, I'm sorry." Marik covered his mouth, mostly to mute his laughter.

"What the fuck, Marik?" Bakura pulled the earring away from his face.

"I'm sorry!" Marik laughed harder, hard enough to have to stop moving his hips because his abs shook too hard.

But they were used to setbacks and it never could stop either one of them from striving towards their goal.


	46. Star Gazing

Bakura's favorite spot of nowhere became one of their favorite haunts. Their blanket stretched across the sand and the stars stretched above their heads. The breeze blew warm over their skin, but the day's heat was fading into the hills. Marik leaned back in Bakura's arms as they star gazed.

"I never thought I'd see them. The stars."

"I spent my whole life under them and never enjoyed them."

"But here we are now."

"Here we are," Bakura echoed.

"You can't see this many when we're at home because of the city lights."

"That's one of the things I hate about living now rather than before. The air tastes bad. The water tastes bad. There's too many people."

Marik shifted until he sat in Bakura's lap and faced him. "Maybe the air tastes bad, but what about this?" Marik leaned in and sucked on Bakura's bottom lip, waiting for Bakura to open his mouth so Marik could deepen the kiss.


	47. Babysitting (part 1)

Ishizu walked in with a small suitcase in one hand and Bastet holding her other hand. She pecked Marik on the cheek. "Thanks again for watching her while I go on this business trip."

Bakura snickered, looking up from his place on the couch. "Business trip? Is that what they call a conjugal visit these days?"

"Promise not to teach her any colorful new words this week, Bakura."

"Only if you promise not to come back pregnant."

Bastet's violet eyes grew into two, huge planets. "I want a little brother! Please mommy, get pregnant in New York, okay?"

Ishizu shot Bakura an angry glance.

He smiled at her.

Bastet ran to him and jumped in his lap, making Bakura wince as she kneed him in the stomach.

"Kura!" She strangled him by wrapping her arms around his neck.

Ishizu had done everything in her power to make it "Uncle Bakura," but he'd won that argument, so the child had Uncle Marik, Uncle Rishid, and Kura. For some reason Bastet refused to add the "Ba" to his name, but he put up with it as long as it wasn't "Uncle Kura" – although Marik was starting to pick up the "Kura" nickname and that was a royal pain in Bakura's ass.

Marik waved. "I'll be right back, you two. Bastet, keep Kura out of trouble while I take your mom to the airport."

"Okay." She waved and blew them kisses. When they left, the excitable six-year-old turned towards Bakura. "Let's play salon."

Bakura was not fond of that game. It involved pink nail polish that smelled awful, and a pink lip gloss that looked horrid on his complexion and tasted like plastic. "Let's play Nintendo."

"No, Kura, beauty salon," she said it as it were the most obvious thing in the world and Bakura was an imbecile for not knowing otherwise.

Bakura rolled his eyes and sighed, conceding. It wasn't as fun arguing with the female Ishtars. He liked to save his fights for Marik if he could help it. Bakura sat on the floor so Bastet could yank at his hair with a toy hair brush.


	48. Babysitting (part 2)

Ishizu stood and rubbed her temples. Bakura knew that meant she was raving pissed at them, but wouldn't lose her temper in front of Bastet. "Bakura, why did you think it was okay to buy her a kitten?"

Bakura couldn't help the grin. He knew it made him look like an asshole – and he was an asshole, but he wasn't trying to be a jerk, it was just his natural state of being. "Because her name is Bastet. Why on earth would you name her Bastet if you didn't want her to have a kitten?"

He could use Marik's help. It  _was_  both their idea to buy the kitten, but Marik stood with his hands behind his back and his eyes hard-lined to the floor.

"I named her Mau," Bastet said as if that justified everything. At least  _she_  had Bakura's back in this argument.

"That's great, sweetie." Ishizu grinned, but as soon as she turned her head back to Bakura, that legendary Ishtar temper flared in her eyes. "You need to consult me before you make big decisions like this."

"No mommy, Mau is very small."

The worst of that quip was the honest-to-gods candid tone in her voice. The child truly thought she was presenting a logical and valid argument for her keeping the cat (yes, obviously Seto's child. Ishtars didn't do so well with logic). Problem was, Bakura was kinda thinking the same thing, only much more sarcastically, and when Bastet pulled the words out of his head, the added irony of her sincerity gave Bakura no other choice to to burst into a fit of laughter.

"I'm glad you think this is funny Bakura," Ishizu said, "because I'm allergic to cats."

"You are?" Marik looked up.

"Bullshit," Bakura cursed in Middle Egyptian. He used to use Japanese, but they started teaching that to her as well, so he had to get creative.

"Language, Bakura," Ishizu hissed in Egyptian Arabic.

Sometimes he forgot they spoke the older dialects because of their crazy upbringing. Bakura frowned. "Are you seriously allergic?"

"I tried to get a house cat as soon as I left the tomb, but after a day I couldn't stop sneezing."

"Well, crap." Bakura crossed his arms over his chest in thought, thankful that Ishizu didn't scold him for his language again because crap was as censored as he'd get.

Ishizu couldn't take the cat home because she was allergic, but that made her look like the bad guy for something that wasn't her fault since they didn't ask her first. Oh well, what was he for if not for playing the villain? This would be easy, right? Breaking the heart of an innocent child? Easy. Just like making Ryou cry, easy peasy. Bakura gave no fucks!

Bakura crouched down so he could look Bastet in the eye.

She started crying before he said a word. She already knew what was next.

Bakura realized he needed to go on Skype and apologize to Ryou for everything he ever did to his old host. The stabbings, the soul collection, intentionally squeezing the toothpaste from the center just because he knew Ryou hated it, everything he'd ever done, because it was suddenly less funny than it'd been at the time.

"Look." Bakura rested a hand on her pitch-black hair. "It's not that you can't keep Mau, it's that she has to stay here and live with me and Uncle Marik."

He had lost his touch at villainy. He supposed a decade of cuddling on the sofa with Marik as they watched stand up and split pints of ice-cream could do that to even the most vile of souls.

Bastet blinked away most of her tears. "So, you'll take care of her?"

Bakura nodded.

"And I can visit?"

She visited just about once a week, but Bastet happened to be the one person Bakura would swallow a sardonic comment for. "Of course."

Bastet accepted the compromise with all the grace and dignity a six-year-old without a kitten could muster. After they left, Ishizu stared at Bakura with an unspoken rush of gratitude, and Bakura couldn't do anything but stand there with a small, black kitten in his arms.

Once they left, Marik stared at him, hands on his hips. "Okay."

Bakura opened his mouth to argue, and it was going to be a spectacular fight after watching a child for a week and then having to deal with an irate Ishizu.

Marik cut him off. "Before you scream your counter argument, I just want you to know that I think you've finally earned those ten consecutive blow jobs you're always trying to get."


	49. 7/10

They sat on the couch watching t.v., which meant Bakura watched t.v. while Marik read another book. Bakura felt his eyes closing. He knew he should go to sleep, but also knew Marik wouldn't budge off the couch until he finished his chapter, so Bakura allowed his eyes to drift shut as he leaned on Marik's shoulder.

Marik leaned over until his mouth was next to Bakura's ear, breath hot and voice sultry. "What number are we on?"

Bakura's eyes shot open, a sudden wakefulness overcoming him. "I think we're on seven."

"Seven," Marik said as if mulling the number over in his mind. "All right."

He swung himself down to the carpet, kneeling in front of Bakura and smirking. Bakura swallowed, his heart rate quickening before Marik even touched him. Marik leaned against Bakura's left thigh, tracing patterns into Bakura's jean leg and staring at Bakura's crotch as if it were an exhibit at an art gallery.

Bakura tried not to squirm. He knew Marik got off when watching Bakura get needy, so he made Marik earn each moment. However, the closer Marik's fingers danced to Bakura's crotch, the more he wanted to nudge himself closer to Marik's hand.

Marik licked his bottom lip. "Wonder if I can make you beg for it."

Now Bakura was shifting his body into Marik's touch. He couldn't help it. "If you do, it doesn't count as part of the ten – those are given not asked for."

Marik thought that over. "Still might be worth it."

"Marik," Bakura hissed.

Marik grinned as he removed Bakura's pants. As soon as his mouth touched Bakura's skin, Bakura moaned. He shifted himself in and out of Marik's mouth, using Marik's hair like reigns.

Marik purred, sending vibrations through Bakura's shaft.

"Shit," Bakura slammed his eyes shut and moved a little quicker.

Marik pulled back a moment, stroking Bakura with a clenched fists. "Do I get to take you after this?"

Bakura nodded his head, though at that moment he would have agreed to anything. Marik rewarded his answer with his mouth sinking back down Bakura's cock.


	50. No, Mau, I Hate You

They locked her out of the room at night. Otherwise she tried to play with their feet while they slept, and feeling unexplained whiskers brushing against you was creepy when you were in the middle of making love. The only problem being, she pined at the door every morning at exactly 5:50.

"No, Mau, I hate you," Bakura muttered as he pushed his face harder against Marik's shoulder in order to drown out the insistent meows.

By 6:00, he shuffled down the hall and to the kitchen where Mau's food dish sat empty. "I hate you so much."

After filling it, he crawled back into bed.

Later that day, as he checked his emails, Bakura heard a small jingle and a smaller meow. He glanced down and two large, green eyes stared back at him. A toy mouse dangled from her mouth. Bakura shook his head. "No, I don't want to play. I hate you."

He grabbed the mouse and tossed it across the living room to get rid of her. She fetched it and brought it back to him. He'd throw it away, and each time she brought it back.

As Bakura made a sandwich, she rubbed against his ankles. "Hell no, you're not getting any of my roast beef."

Perhaps a piece fell on the floor, and Bakura was too lazy to pick it up.

Marik went out to run errands and Bakura stole the opportunity for a nap on the sofa. He felt a soft weight shifting on his stomach. Bakura growled. "Go away, cat. I can't stand you."

Mau walked up to Bakura's chest, circled twice, and settled down on top of him. Bakura rolled his eyes and scratched behind her ear.

Marik came home and noticed Bakura asleep on the couch, arms curled around a small patch of black.


	51. On A Wednesday. In The Middle Of The Afternoon. In A Hallway. On The Most Uninteresting Day Of Their Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tired updating, but feel free to harass me about these b/c I need to eventually get them all over here from ff net.

Marik had a basket of laundry propped against his hip. He stepped through the hallway, carrying the clothes to their bedroom to be sorted and folded.

Bakura walked from the other direction. Marik didn't pay him much notice until Bakura grabbed his shoulders and pressed him against the wall. The basket dropped from his hand and tossed the clothing to the floor.

"Bakura, what the fu—"

"Shut-up." Bakura pressed a pale finger against Marik's lips. He leaned close. His lips brushed against Marik's ear as he spoke. "Marik, I love you."

Bakura continued down the hallway as Marik stood, blinking his eyes and trying to breathe.


End file.
